Niches
by Foxieglove
Summary: After joining the X-Men, Mort struggles to find his place at the Institute - with Forge's somewhat questionable help. Follows the events in 'Under the Radar'.


"Move out! Move! Move!"

Scott's voice was a clarion call in the melee of confusion and running bodies and Mort almost didn't catch himself before he started to scramble toward it - momentarily forgetting that the objective was to fan out and conquer opponents as a team.

He swerved direction, nearly running into Kitty, who managed to phase through him and colliding hard with Rogue. Both went down in a tangle of cursing limbs, Rogue being the mouth in this particular case.

She disentangled herself roughly and ran off, leaving Mort to fend for himself against a sudden onslaught of metal tentacles. They reminded him a bit too much of Senyaka's whips and Mort scrambled to his feet, frantically hopping and dodging out of their way. He had no idea what would happen after the tentacles got a hold of him; for all he knew they were electrified as well.

In retrospect, it may have been better if he'd focused on where the rest of the X-men were in relation to his next jump. Because while jumping over and then flinging himself under a swinging tentacle in a really very acrobatic series of flips, Mort failed to notice where he was setting himself up to land.

"God freakin' damn it, ya jerk! Get the hell offa me, Toad!"

Which was exactly what Rogue _would_ have been able to say if she hadn't been muffled and face-down on the Danger Room floor pinned beneath Mortimer's body.

"Ack! I'm sorry!" Mort yelped and scuttled away from her on all fours until his back hit somebody's legs. He looked up and blanched. This was it - he was about to be skewered and turned into little amphibian shish kebobs at the next garden party. Logan scowled and bent down, easily lifting Mort to his feet by the back of his uniform before walking over to the others.

"What in the hell was that?" he asked flatly. "This supposed to be a teamwork exercise, people. You know I _hate_ lecturing about teamwork. And yet ya keep makin' me have to _do _it!"

Mort bowed his head, shifting nervously and digging his nails a little too hard into his wrist as Logan's tirade continued. Any moment now Logan was going to turn around and point out the weakest link. The reason the whole thing had gone down in flames. At the moment, Logan was currently ragging on Bobby, but that was probably because he was saving Mortimer for last. Pietro always had.

And Pietro only ever had to go through three people to get to him, which made the anticipation all that worse because Logan was going to have to rip apart at least half the entire team before -

"Next morning we're gonna try this again, and if you _still_ ain't shaped up - I'm gonna let Scott be the one to break it to you how much improvement this team needs."

Where there had been silence, there were now various murmurs of dismay.

"But that will take the whole day," Kitty moaned softly.

"Thanks, Logan," Scott said, dryly and was the first to walk out, followed by a few others. Some chuckling, some serious and Mort stood in place for a very confused moment.

Logan hadn't given them all the go-ahead to leave, had he? In which case, he should stay and maybe get yelled at privately? Which was better, but also not something he was looking forward to.

"Hey, kid. You need to talk or somethin'?" Logan asked, looking at him.

"Uh, no! I mean, no thank you? I can go somewhere else," Mortimer said, backing toward the door. If Logan wasn't going to lay into him on his own, he certainly wasn't going to invite him to.

Logan blinked slowly. "Right. Well if you do, I'll be . . . "

Mort had already vanished.

". . . . around." Mystified, Logan scratched the back of his head and walked up to the control room.

* * *

Breakfast was a hectic affair in the Mansion. The kitchen wasn't flooded because there was a shortage of food; quite the opposite, in fact. It was simply the matter of everyone being hungry at once and talking excitedly to and over each other while eating. Mort wasn't afraid of a little socializing, but he was also perfectly happy with just standing to the side until things quieted down a little.

Someone behind him cleared their throat and Mort nearly jumped, turning around swiftly. Kitty raised her eyebrow. "You okay? I can hear your stomach growling from across the room and you've yet to join the stampede."

"Eh, ladies first," Mort offered up as an excuse.

"Yeah right," Kitty snorted, amused. "Like you'd ever see any of that going on around here. The boys are always the first to tornado through the fridge and cupboards after morning Danger Room sessions."

Obviously, this was because none of the girls were professional mercenaries who trained daily with every illegal weapon on the market. "Well, don't let me stand in your way," Mort said. And wished he hadn't, because Kitty grinned mischievously and then walked right _through_ him.

"Okay, I won't," she sang and Mort bit the corner of his lip to the bleeding point as the lightly static sensation (which wasn't wholly unpleasant, just strange) faded away. He crossed his arms and shivered, stepping further against the wall and leaning against it.

Bobby and Scott were getting into a heated argument about something over in the corner. Mort didn't know what about, but he sure as hell wasn't going to stick around for the resulting explosion. With everyone's attention conveniently on the arguing pair, he sidled toward the counter to swipe two muffins and a couple of apples.

Mort left the kitchen as though it was on fire and headed straight to the elevators, pushing the down button with his elbow. Forge probably had yet to come up for lunch or breakfast. He stayed up late usually, burning the midnight oil. Mortimer wished he had that sort of dedication for something - for anything.

He still didn't understand how Forge had talked Logan into letting him join the X-men. Obviously Mort had been given far more credit than was due for their escape from the MRD. Not that he was ungrateful, just a little lost as to how he was going to live up to whatever hype Logan had been told. Everyone here seemed to be perfect on some degree or another.

Then there was Forge, who had the seemingly daunting task of not only fixing all the equipment but also inventing new and better ways for the X-men to kick ass. And - Mort confirmed, as he tapped lightly on the open door frame with his foot - who was still up working on the blueprints for a new security feature. He wondered when on earth Forge slept. It certainly wasn't at night; as Mortimer could well attest to.

When there was no answer, he simply went in.

"Hey, brought you breakfast."

"Thanks! Just a minute . . ." Forge bent over something, the sound of a tool lightly whirring.

Mort watched him and when at least two minutes passed, he sidled up to Forge, taking as loud a bite as he could manage out of one of the apples and chewing noisily. It worked like a charm. Forge put his goggles back up and straightened, turning around immediately. His stomach gave a light growl. Mortimer couldn't help a knowing smile as he handed over the extra share of food.

"Thanks, I was famished."

"Well, you've only been working since what, two this morning? Dude, sit down already and rest."

Forge seated himself on the cot as he bit into the flesh of the apple, thoughtlessly tugging Mort down next to him.

"Sorry you couldn't find the lab sooner last night. I should have warned you, I give terrible directions," Forge apologized, once he'd swallowed the last of the apple. His thumb brushed lightly against Mort's arm and the other mutant leaned into him a little.

"Your directions were fine," Mort said quietly, fiddling with the apple core. "I was just panicked and . . . I really should've just stayed in my room. Then maybe you'd have been done with your work by now and gotten some sleep."

"Nonsense." Forge's eyebrows were furrowed in concern. "I'd rather you come down and see me if you're having a bad night. No matter what I'm working on, okay? Truthfully, most of it isn't that important anyway."

Mort looked up at the slight bitterness in his tone. "Don't say that. You do practically everything around here. I wish I knew how to be useful."

"Well, you are. You're keeping me fed, for one thing," Forge grinned. He lightly kissed Mort's jaw. "And sane, for another."

Mort smiled, though it was a little strained. He was alright here with Forge, but he honestly didn't know how where to begin fitting in with the others. Honestly, he wasn't sure if he should try it. No attention was good attention, right? So long as the attention was on the rest of the X-men, Wolverine couldn't notice him doing terribly and then send him away where he'd be on the streets and possibly captured again by Wraith, who'd -

"Mortimer, stop."

"Buh?"

"Your hands," Forge reminded gently and Mort realized with a start that he was digging his claws into his skin again. He made a frustrated noise and rested his hands in his lap, not protesting when Forge covered them with his own. He didn't say anything, just rubbed at the angry red crescents in Mort's skin with his thumbs.

"I'm going crazy here," Mort blurted out, unable to help it. "I'm fine around you, but everyone else is . . . I just don't know how I'm supposed to belong."

Forge was quiet a moment. "Sounds like you need some help finding your niche, huh?"

"Something. Anything." Mort dropped his forehead against Forge's shoulder. "At this point I'd even volunteer to clean the Mansion. I was good at cleaning."

"No, everyone has communal chores. Extra chores if they screw up."

"Oh. So then I'll be _involuntarily_ cleaning the Mansion."

"Mortimer," Forge chided softly, resting his chin on the top of Mort's head. "You've only been here two days. I'm sure you're doing better than I was. Way better. Speaking of which, how'd the first Danger Room session go?"

Mort groaned pitifully and hid his face further against the man's collar.

"Well, okay, I won't ask for the details. Just know that unless you curled up in a ball when the tentacles came out and started pleading for your virtue, you probably did great compared to me."

There was a muffled snort of laughter against Forge's chest and after a moment, Mortimer raised his face. "What is _with_ those?"

"I actually don't know. I certainly didn't put them in. Furthermore, I don't want to know. If you ever find out, please don't tell me," Forge said seriously.

He felt encouraged enough by the grin on Mort's face to get up, pulling the other man with him by the elbows. "Now come on. Let's go upstairs and pretend we're both very good at being social."

Mort sighed inwardly, but didn't protest. Though he loved Forge for trying, he already knew this wasn't going to be pretty.

* * *

Forge, as it turned out, was not secretly brilliant at talking to people. What he was brilliant at was talking himself into chores. The conversation would start out innocently enough. For example: "Oh, hey Kitty, how's it going? No, I have absolutely no idea what Scott and Bobby are snarking about this time. Does anyone ever?"

And then, because Kitty was starting down the dangerous pathway of ranting about Bobby and various other Girl Things, Forge switched topics with all the cool and practiced speed of a railway technician. "So, how's the laptop working?"

Which led to Forge tinkering at her desk with the unhappily glitching machine, while Mortimer attempted to make small talk with Kitty. Of all the women at the Institute, Kitty was the least intimidating. That didn't mean she _wasn't_, but just the fact she wasn't particularly trying to be made a world of difference to Mort.

He almost groaned when Forge sat up from the computer desk, stating cheerfully that the laptop was no longer sporting a blue screen of death. It was as if he knew that the next person was Rogue, and that she would have Tildie in her company. While Forge was roped into fixing Tildie's disc man, Mort was subjected to both cautious glowering and babbling preteen girl. He was having a very hard time paying attention to the right thing at the right time.

Tildie made his guts squirm with guilt. She was officially the 'kid' of the X-men except she didn't have to go on any missions and was well-protected here, something that Pietro would have only promised her and not delivered. The Brotherhood did not do that sort of thing as a general rule. Fortunately. Because Mort could not imagine any of them, let alone Dominic, babysitting a little girl (and potentially being forced to watch The Jonas Brothers) without losing their freaking minds.

Mort felt guilty because he'd known for a while that Pietro's master plan involved someone who was not willing. Even if they'd told him it was ijust a little girl/i who was going to be the pawn in Magneto's game, he didn't think he'd have done anything to stop it. Not that he could have done much except refuse to come along, but still.

Tildie was a sweet kid, even offered to lend him her music when she found out he had no CDs of his own during their interview. Which Mort politely declined, ignoring Rogue's dark muttering that he'd probably help himself to whatever the X-men owned sooner than later. He was relieved to follow Forge out of the room, up until they ran into Ororo.

She inevitably gave Forge the specs on her failing sprinkler system and temporarily left the man to do his job in Mort's company. Much to the latter's relief. He slumped down on the grass next to Forge and aimlessly toyed with a dark red tulip as his companion dug down into the earth with a trowel.

"Sorry," Forge said after a few minutes of toil. "I know you're not enjoying yourself watching me do chores all over the place."

Mort glanced over at him, watching the curve of his back and how the tip of Forge's tongue slipped out between his lips as he carefully unscrewed the mechanism. "This is fine. I think I needed a break from all my die hard fans."

He shouldn't have said that because Forge looked over at him guiltily. "I heard what Rogue said. Not everyone believes that, you know. When you join with us, it's supposed to be with a clean slate. She's lucky Tildie was in the room or I'd have said something she didn't want to hear."

Forge had said a rather sharp goodbye, now that Mort remembered. He averted his gaze, face heating up a little, and once again pulled on the petal of the tulip to send the flower springing wildly on its stem. "I wondered who did the gardening around here," Mort murmured after a silence. "Should've figured it'd be Storm."

"Ororo. You can call her that, she won't mind. Don't be put off by the whole regal Goddess act either - she's a nice lady. Unless of course you mess with her flowers."

Forge carefully pushed down on the sprinkler head and started to cover it back up with dirt. He almost missed Mortimer's small noise of terror. When he looked, he saw Mort desperately trying to make the tulip stand up again on its broken stem while muttering swear words under his breath.

"Oh crap," Forge said unhelpfully, sensing impending doom. Ororo had said she'd be back in just a bit. "Crap . . . um . . ."

He was a genius with machines, not plants. Honestly, he had no idea what to do. "Maybe I can go find some duct-tape. They use duct-tape on flowers right? Could be some in the shed." He looked wildly around for the shed, having only assumed there was a shed in the first place, and trying not to obviously panic.

Mort flailed his hands uselessly for a moment then seemed to be inspired by Forge's idea. He spat quickly in his hand and forced the tulip to straighten, plastering inner leaves together to hide both the slime and the bend in the stem.

Forge was duly impressed. "Hey, here she comes! Act casual."

They walked quickly back toward the mansion, whistling nonchalantly and making Ororo stare after them with deep suspicion. She hurried to check on her flowers and fortunately (for them) found nothing noticeably amiss.

"Oh my God," Mortimer breathed, feeling safer once there was a series of doors between them and the outside. Dominic had once imparted that truly enraged women had trouble using small everyday things, such as doorknobs. Though Mort had sensed this was utter bull crap at the time, he now found himself desperately hoping for a kernel of truth somewhere in that statement.

"It's not thundering yet. I think it worked," Forge said, peering out the window. "Well, we might as well break for some food, huh?"

The kitchen wasn't as packed as it had been that morning, but it certainly wasn't empty. Forge largely ignored Kitty and Bobby as they argued at the table, just as expertly as they were ignoring him and everyone else. Mort edged around them too, privately amazed at how some couples could simply disappear into their own world.

"All I'm asking for is a little maturity, Bobby Drake," Kitty snapped. "I know it's like totally hard for you, so that's why I don't ask for it very much."

"And you need to lighten up. Trust me, there are some things worth getting chewed out for."

Kitty groaned in exasperation and Mort heard the distinct flumping sound of skull hitting wooden table as he made his sandwich. He idly wondered if it was Kitty's or Bobby's.

"You are so impossible," Kitty was complaining to the wood grains.

Mortimer didn't hear Bobby's reply, because Forge was grinning at him now and nothing else seemed to really matter beyond that. He took the offered can of cola, letting his long fingers brush against the other man's .

"Come on, we can eat downstairs," Forge suggested.

He followed gladly.

* * *

As far as morning people went at the Institute, there were several types. Some stayed up until the crack of dawn and kept on going. Others woke up at six on the dot, went into the kitchen to drink programmed coffee, and started their day with a cheerful whistle. More than a few rolled out of bed grudging but willing, mainly to prevent the type of wakeup call a short hairy fierce Canadian might deliver if they hit the snooze alarm one too many times.

Rogue was none of the above. In fact, there were certain mornings she could barely qualify under 'person'.

Bleary and adrift in a pre-coffee haze of world-hatred, Rogue went for the refrigerator and reached for the hazelnut creamer. Her hand closed around air. She squinted death at the fridge door and started searching through the various bottles of pickles and ketchup and soy milk before finally locating it on the counter where it had likely been left all night.

With a snarl, she let the fridge door click shut and stalked back toward the coffee pot. The noise was enough to stir a dark shape at the table, which sat up and groaned softly. Rogue glanced over to see who it was and then scowled. Toad. How delightful.

She dismissed his presence until the first drink of coffee, which enabled her brain to remind her that Toad was usually not awake around this time. Not unless something was wrong.

Rogue watched him over the rim of her mug. She knew the only reason he was even here was because of Forge. The two of them had been like freaking peas in a pod for the past couple days. Kitty thought it was cute, and Jean had agreed in a noncommittal sort of way.

But now there was just Mortimer, sitting alone at the table with red-rimmed eyes and generally looking like hell. Rogue could only assume the worst.

"You two have a fight or somethin'?" she asked. Mort's head shot up with the classic deer-in-the-headlights look. She rolled her eyes. "I _know_, okay? You ain't exactly been subtle. Though surely you can tell by the lack of people lined up to throw rocks at y'all that nobody has a problem. So relax," Rogue answered the question before he could ask it. Mort bit his lip and averted his gaze.

Rogue frowned. As far as teammates went, she was more concerned about Forge's state right now. He was a dork sometimes, but he was their dork and if Mort had messed him up -

"No," Mort said quietly, surprising her. "We didn't fight."

Caught off guard, she blinked. "Then what -"

"It was a stupid dream, okay?" he gritted out, almost angrily. "And I already know how lame that sounds so don't even say it." Mortimer couldn't look at her. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

She knew she probably shouldn't ask, but she couldn't help it. Mortimer had some pretty awful nightmares while she was living with the Brotherhood. She'd slept near his room and could hear him. In the morning, he'd done such a good job acting like nothing was wrong that she hadn't asked. Right now though, Mort was a wreck. She couldn't bring herself to ignore it any longer.

Rogue bit her lip. "You wanna talk about it?"

Mort glanced up at her, surprised, then back down at his hands. For a moment he said nothing. Then, hesitantly, "W-Wraith was taking Forge apart and I was trapped in th-this tank of water and couldn't get out to stop him. Then I stopped drowning and as soon as I could breathe, Wraith was putting him back together again and he was doing it all wrong, on purpose! Forge was in so much pain - h-he was screaming and I couldn't get out to help him. I couldn't do anything except try to keep drowning because . . . because wh-when I couldn't breathe, Wraith would leave _him_ alone and watch me," he explained, all in a rush, then hid his face in his hands.

"After I woke up, I couldn't find him," he managed through his fingers. "He wasn't in the lab and he wasn't in the hangar and I got lost trying to find his room. So I found the kitchen and figured I'd just try and calm down and make coffee but I don't know how to work the machine because it's all digital and weird and I was afraid of breaking it. I don't even want coffee anyway. I just . . . couldn't go back to my room."

Rogue watched in silence for a few minutes, then moved to sit across from him. "So . . . you're upset because of the dream, and because you couldn't see that Forge was okay?"

He stared at the table, a picture of misery, before nodding.

There must have been something very off about the coffee that morning, because Rogue found herself starting to agree that maybe Mort and Forge were just a little bit adorable together. She glowered at her mug and viciously drained the rest of its contents. That ought to teach it.

"Okay," Rogue sighed finally, "I'll show you to his room. We ain't friends, but I've had enough nightmares about people I care about to know what you're goin' through."

Mortimer looked up at her, clearly surprised. "You . . . don't think it's creepy?"

"Pfff. You have no idea what even defines 'creepy' around here. Have you met Scott and Jean?" Rogue muttered. She put her mug in the sink and went to the doorway, waiting for Mortimer to follow.

He was surprised when they went down instead of up; Forge had told him that his room was above the lab and Mort had assumed that meant on the main bedroom floor. It turned out that he'd meant one floor above the lab and infirmary and in the furthest west corner.

"Thank you," he muttered sheepishly, as he typed in the code. Forge had told him what it was and Mort could only thank his lucky stars he'd remembered.

"Hey, just don't use me for a lily pad during practice anymore and we'll call it good," Rogue shrugged, smirking just a little. She turned to go and he watched her, only for a moment, before slipping into Forge's room and shutting the door behind him.

Mortimer moved down the steps as quietly as possible, able to hear Forge's breathing. It was already six in the morning, but still dark outside and he just wanted to lie here and listen to the man lightly snore for a little while. Then he'd be fine and he could go up to the Danger Room and try not to perform too miserably.

He stealthily snuck under the blankets, mattress dipping only slightly beneath him as he crawled up onto the bed. Forge gave a snort and muttered his name, clumsily throwing an arm over his waist to pull him closer. It was a half-asleep invitation, but Mort took it anyway - glad for the excuse to curl against the man's chest and listen to him being safe and warm and tangible.

Mort didn't really mean to fall asleep, but he must have. Because when he opened his eyes again, Forge's clock read that it was half-past eight.

Oh hell. Wolverine was going to kill him.

Forge muttered in protest as Mort near-catapulted himself out of the bed and started for the stairs. He got halfway up before realizing he'd taken Forge's blanket with him, then cursed and ran back down, apologizing and smoothing it back over the man's body.

"Hwrruh? Mort? What're you doing?"

"I gotta go!"

"Where?" Forge's eyebrows were knitted together, obviously not yet able to grasp the logic of any situation that dictated Mort could no longer be lying comfortably next to him.

"To get eviscerated probably. I - I slept through the whole thing!"

"What d'you mean slept through . . .?" He slurred, sitting up and stretching.

"Danger Room Session! It started at seven - I was supposed to be there over an hour ago!"

"Oh . . ." Forge looked at the clock. "Crap. Okay, don't panic."

"Too freakin' late, man!" Mort cried, tugging on his dreads. Murmuring calming and mostly nonsensical things at him, Forge got out of bed and gripped his shoulders.

"Take it easy. You can't be the first X-men who ever slept through a training session. They aren't mandatory anyway, are they? I never go. Then again, that's usually because I'm usually working on something," Forge muttered unhelpfully.

He looked at Mort's wide amber eyes and the genuine fear in them made his chest hurt. Not for the first time, he wondered what distinctions were between the X-men and the Brotherhood as far as training techniques went. Unnecessary pain seemed one probable theory. "Hey. Listen to me. Nobody is going to hurt you, I swear to that. I'm gonna get some more clothes on and we'll go up together. If anything, we'll both get yelled at, okay?"

Mortimer at least seemed calmed by the suggestion of not facing a possibly furious Logan by himself. In short order, he and Forge were heading up to the main level.

It was unnervingly quiet when they passed the kitchen; usually this time of day was heralded by everyone trying to grab something to replace the calories they'd burned off. The first soul they ran into was Scott.

He was walking slowly down the hall away from the Danger Room, looking completely spaced out.

"Um. Hi," Mort greeted him nervously.

Scott looked at him and may have blinked; it was hard to tell with the visor. "Don't switch the blade on the guy in shades," he warned them.

Forge raised an eyebrow and Mort, already on edge, grew just a little offended. "What? But I wouldn't do that! Why would I do that? I'm not even in a gang anymore!"

But Scott was already ambling away from them, vacantly muttering what sounded like poetry.

A flash of red hair came to the rescue. "Shh, it's okay, Scott. Come on, we can just relax for a bit in the rec room and listen to some nice, quiet music."

"No music. Don't want music," Scott protested tonelessly as Jean led him down the hall. She flashed an apologetic smile at the two completely mystified men and they disappeared around the corner.

". . . what in the hell was that?"

"I-I don't know. Let's go get yelled at before he can come back." Forge tugged on Mort's shirt, more than a little unnerved.

The moment the doors slid open to allow them in, Logan began yelling. Aside from a choked whimper, Mortimer bravely braced himself for the onslaught. He opened his eyes a moment later, realizing that Logan was not in fact yelling at _him_.

"Dammit, Bobby, if you gotta problem with somebody, then you take it up with me so I can tell you both how stupid you are!"

"But my way was more creative," Bobby said. "And completely non-violent."

"It damned near became violent!" Logan roared, in his face.

"Well, you should always knock when the Danger Room 'in session' light is on. Isn't that what you've told us?" he continued, with the cheerful abandon of someone who is already going down with the ship and figures they might as well take the whole iceberg down with them.

Mort almost shut his eyes again, certain there was going to be Bobby-flavored gore on the walls in the next few seconds.

Logan did not break out the claws, however. He took what appeared to be a deep breath and clenched his fists. "Bobby," he growled evenly. "I understand more than you realize how long of a stick Summers can occasionally get stuck up his ass. But a good way to remove it is not achieved by locking him into a room and replaying 'I Wear My Sunglasses at Night' for _five solid freakin' hours_!"

If Wolverine was trying to get an equally disapproving reaction from the rest of the assembled X-men, he mostly failed - there were miniature explosions of muffled giggles and snickers coming from all sides.

"Hey, who doesn't love the eighties?"

"_I _don't love the eighties!" Wolverine snapped, once again nose-to-nose with Iceman. "Especially not when they cause my teammates to go completely berserk and fire laser beams at anything that walks through the Danger Room doors! And if you even start a sentence concerning my healing factor, I will make you realize just how lucky _you_ are that you do not have one!

"Aside from that, I've already scheduled you for cleaning the X-jet for five solid weeks - stop grinning, Forge, you still have to do the repairs - plus I've told Jean that she can stick any song she wants in your head at your earliest inconvenience! So if I were you, I'd seek the two of them out in a few hours and make nice. _Real_ nice."

Bobby winced and was finally permitted to rejoin the group of X-men, whose agonizingly repressed mirth hadn't died down much. Kitty was positively pink in the face, and the scowl that Bobby gave her only seemed to make her internal giggle-fit worse. She leaned against him comfortingly though, when he drew near enough.

"Since this morning's exercise was a complete write-off, we'll have a double session later today. If you had any plans, you'll know who to thank while you're canceling them." Wolverine made a general dismissive gesture and the X-men started to trail out, either talking about what had happened or groaning as they realized that their afternoon would be taken up completely.

Mortimer looked at Forge, surprised and a little lost as to what had spared him this time from getting reamed out. By all rights, Wolverine should have torn him to shreds right after Bobby. A peculiar noise jolted him out of it and he looked up to see that Logan had his face turned away and was biting his lip, seeming to concentrate very hard on something.

"Nngh. Need to talk?" Logan forced out, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Um. N-No . . . I just. I wanted to apologize for not making it."

"Eh, forget it. Rogue told me you were feeling under the weather. Didn't go into detail, and I didn't ask, so we'll leave it at that." Logan coughed and looked away, eyes looking brighter than normal. "Anything else?" His voice cracked on the last syllable, then to Mort's complete amazement, Wolverine's serious expression broke and he began to laugh. It was practically silent, but it was unmistakably laughter.

"God dammit -" Logan swore, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I swear, that kid is gonna kill me someday."

A chuckle from Hank made both Forge and Mortimer turn. "I was wondering when you were going to finally lose it, Logan. My bet was right in front of everyone while still putting Bobby in his place."

"You know I can't encourage that sort of thing. But at the same time . . ." Logan smirked, unable to help it. "Shades had that comin' more than just a little."

"Well, you've both learned a big secret today," Hank said, clapping both Mort and Forge on the back. "Wolverine actually has a sense of humor. Be honored; most people go years without ever knowing."

That got a surprised peal of laughter out of Mortimer, simply because of the surrealness. "So wait . . . you guys . . . you really aren't going to rip my head off if I miss a day of practice or - or if I mess up?"

Logan seemed to sober just a little. "Nah. Not unless you make a _habit_ of missin' practice. As for messin' up - I try my damnedest every day to _make_ people mess up so I can see where they need to improve at their most vulnerable. You people are gonna be out there in dangerous situations and I need to make sure you're as prepared as you can be. I don't give a rat's ass whether or not your _routine_ is perfect. The rest of the world isn't the Danger Room; shit's never gonna get thrown at you the same way twice."

"You . . . wait, so you mean you actually want me to make mistakes?" Mort asked, completely bewildered.

"Ain't gonna make you feel like crap if you do," Logan said, smirking. "Though you understand the difference between a mistake and a moronically reckless prank, I should hope."

"A creatively brilliant prank, you mean," supplied Beast.

"It wasn't that brilliant."

"Of course it wasn't. That's why you were completely straight-faced just two seconds ago."

"Shut up, Hank. That answer your questions, Flycatcher?"

Mort looked at him, then nodded. "Yeah. It does," he said quietly. Then, "Flycatcher?"

"Logan tends to give us all our own special 'code names'. Of course, anything's better than 'Furball', so count yourself lucky," Hank informed him dryly.

He knuckled out of the Danger Room, Logan following. Mort was left with Forge, who grinned back.

"Hey, so you're definitely gonna get along okay with Wolverine. Everyone else should be cake, right?"

Mortimer laughed softly, feeling a swell of relief in his chest as he leaned his shoulder against Forge's. Maybe it would be easy from here on out, and maybe it wouldn't. All he knew for sure was that he at least had Forge.

And for the first time ever in his life, he really did feel lucky.


End file.
